Broken Mirrors
by foggraven
Summary: Born with his father's wild hair and his mothers eyes and colouring Harry Potter is tall for his age and possesses an unnatural predilection to fire and some of the strangest hair you'll ever see.
1. Chapter 1 - Rekindled Flame

**An: Just a oneshot for now, I may continue it one day if there's interest and I can think of where to go with it, leave a review if you've got any ideas or are interested.**

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When Harry Potter was born it came as something of a shock, he hadn't exactly been planned, but his parents loved him fiercely nonetheless.

As he grew though his looks quickly garnered some attention.

Instead of inheriting James Potter's looks or poor eyesight he seemed to take after his mother far more, inheriting his mother's colouring and perfect vision as well as some of her more feminine facial structure.

Though the progeny of Lilly and James seemed to have taken the untameable Potter hair to new heights with some of the wildest naturally occurring hair ever seen, that grew in distinctive crimson spikes of improbable length that somehow managed to retain their shape seemingly without trouble even in the most trying of circumstances.

As well as sharing her emerald eyes and distinctive flaming locks, though if possible his were of an even more intense shade, he also possessed an androgynous if beautiful face that would as he grew label him as one of those few people who could be labelled equally both handsome and pretty.

There was also the curious question of his height, which while not abnormal was certainly outside of the expected range for one with parents of a rather average size.

Nobody had any idea where the height came from, Lily wasn't particularly tall and neither was James, Healers had confirmed that while unusual for a child possessed of a lineage of rather average height he was perfectly healthy, he simply seemed to be growing in height faster than the average child.

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When he arrives at Hogwarts he already towers over all the other students in his year save for a few.

Axel as he sometimes insists of them calling him is extremely magically competent for his age and quickly proves to have a knack for setting things on fire.

Thankfully though unlike Seamus Finnegan his seem like more like actual flames than semi-controlled explosions.

In fact his shear magical power is incredible, outstripping all but a few of the staff, and like his height and already improbable hair it only grows as he ages.

He's well liked amongst the students and staff, both due his obvious talent and laidback if sarcastic nature; though McGonagall is rather aggravated by his love of sleeping and lazing around like some overgrown cat.

Beneath this though there lies a Slytherin cunning, and a ruthless willingness to do anything to carry out his goals.

Very rarely does it show, but it's there. He is after all the being who once laid waste to half of Organization XIII and who inevitably ended up betraying both sides.

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Stumbling upon him one night as he gazes into the mirror Dumbledore watches as he gazes at the sight only he can see.

Curious he sits in silence and watches as for three more nights Harry, or rather Axel, visits.

At last he makes to approach him. He is curious as to what it is he sees.

For the last several nights he hasn't merely gazed at the mirror as most did, instead prodding at it and examining it in detail.

It is clear though that he is losing all interest in the mirror beyond a use as viewing tool for one's heart's desire, or perhaps has already lost it.

Having examined the mirror himself Dumbledore does not think he will find what he's looking for, if in fact he is looking for anything. Young Harry is one to be curious about these sorts of things, or so he hears.

Dropping his charm and making to approach, the boy doesn't seem at all surprised by his presence. It seems he wasn't the only one being watched.

He does, it transpires, know what the mirror does.

The last Potter doesn't say it but Albus gets the impression Lily and James' son thinks he's a bit of an idiot for believing such an 'obvious' conclusion would escape him.

When he asks what it is he sees Harry is quick to turn the question back on him. The words that go unsaid are clear, 'nothing is free'. If he wants an answer first he will have to venture his own.

" _Finding out the truth doesn't always work out for the best... if you want to know the truth tell me first what it is you see."_

And so Dumbledore tells him, speaking of the sister he has lost, and the regrets he wished he could undo as she waves at him happy and healthy holding a thick pair of knitted socks.

At their heart their answers are the same.

His expressions turns at tad wistful and he half turns to glance back at it as he answers, "Just... a tragedy from long ago, memories, if you can call them that. To see the future or to see the past, which is it I wonder."

"Oh?"

"Do know why the sun sets red? You see, light is made up of lots of colours. And out of all those colours, red is the one that travels the farthest."

"Heh... guess that's true even now."

"You asked what I see when I look at the mirror, all I see is a broken mirror and it's broken reflection.

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 **An: The broken mirror and its reflection is an allusion to Roxas and Xion. I may continue this, I don't know. Like I said at the top leave a review if you've got any ideas or are interested.**


	2. Chapter 2 - Memories

**An: So don't really know about where I'm going with the plot yet but I'll figure it out... I hope. There was way more interest than I was expecting and I really did like this so I figured I'd continue with what little I had left in terms of ideas for it and see how things went.**

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The philosopher's stone is worthless; it has no use for him.

In fact he hadn't even known about it. It's not the sort of trinket that interests him.

Lord Voldemort is truly a pathetic individual, he almost finds himself disgusted, emotions are still a struggle to comprehend and he hasn't felt them in a long time. Nobody's retain only the faintest semblance and regain very little over time, even reborn as he is.

He can feel, but it's not much and Voldemort is a truly pathetic existence, so far beneath him on the hierarchal food chain as to be almost non-existent.

Once he might have been the kind of being who, having managed to gather a modicum of power, he would have once been charged with influencing, plotting from the shadows until they inevitably fell, leaving behind a hollow shell or a shadow that could be bent to their purpose.

Immortality isn't something all that difficult to come by; he's come across endless ways to achieve it and seen its effects more times than he can count.

The stone cannot restore life or return hearts or anything truly worthwhile.

Vexen would have no doubt liked to poke around in it, but the Flurry of Dancing Flames is sure it's something even he would have been quickly bored with.

Even its metallurgic properties are worthless.

For one who once tore through the fabric of reality to traverse the very boundaries of worlds with a casual easiness turning lead to gold is little more than a party trick, albeit one he does not specialize in.

Besides while it might hold a premium here it's of little worth. He hasn't had use for gold or munny in a long time beyond the purchasing of basic amenities; somehow it wouldn't have felt right not to pay for sea-salt ice cream.

The far more valuable materials required for synthesis, borne from the very essence of the fundamental forces of reality and crafted through the will of the users who manage to harness their powers for creation have always held far more worth.

It's not a currency that he trades in anymore but one he hopes he will return to soon. It's proving to be... difficult. His current body isn't yet up to interplanetary voyage under its own power yet, and tearing a hole through darkness isn't something to be taken lightly.

His hands miss the familiar ache of the summoning, but he knows better than to attempt it. Soon, but not yet.

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As he lies exhausted in a bed in the Hospital Wing he lets out an exasperated sigh as he recalls what he did to land himself in here.

Physically he wasn't even injured, and if he was he has no doubt the bustling matron who claims the space he currently occupies as her domain would have been able to heal him long ago.

Potionering here is oddly specific for such basic uses but lacks the potency of what he is used to, but it has its uses; it's just a good thing that he can remember a great many interchangeable recipes for the potions and elixirs he's used to though.

Ultimately he had simply expended too much energy, he is still unused to fighting in such a small body again and the flames took more out of him than he'd expected.

The soul shapes the body, or rather the 'heart' shapes the body, at least within the reasonable realms of its genetics, and he grows in the shape that's familiar to him, but it's been a long time since he was a teenager, longer still since he was twelve or nearing it.

If he'd been his old self the short fight would not have taken so much out of him as it did.

Explaining it would had been a bit more challenging, at least if he hadn't passed out. He was never one for delicacy, at least in battle, and his flames are hardly delicate.

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Lying in bed, ailing as he is, his thoughts turn to the matter that has been plaguing him as of late. There is a gap in his memories.

In actuality there are several gaps, a whole string of them spaning roughly a year.

There are holes where there shouldn't be and scenes that don't make sense, almost as if another person was present but had been removed at the last minute, sometimes whole conversations are left almost entirely blank.

During Roxas' defection, and the time leading to his 'death' the memories had been something of a jumbled haze and it was only now that he was starting to make sense of them as they returned to their natural clarity, only to find a gaping hole in them.

He doubts to an outside observer lacking intricate knowledge it would have been like anything had changed, but even he notices gaps in his memory.

The thing about memories to Nobodies though, was that they were just so precious, everything from their actions to the way they spoke was dictated by them, and unlike their Somebodies they didn't have their hearts to guide them if they were obscured or lost.

All they _were_ was memories; just faint echoes of people who had once existed.

That's what had always made Roxas' case so unusual, it just wasn't normal for a Nobody to _not_ have memories of their life when they were still living beings with hearts of their own.

Memories were so integral to a Nobodies existence, without them how could they even exist? Their whole existences were built from the recollections of their once living, breathing, existing selves.

They were faded echoes of what once was, lingering impressions upon the world.

And so, whatever the cause of the sudden holes in the chain of his memory was, it probably would have –and had, succeeded in wiping all trace of suddenly missing memories from the ones affected without them noticing –after all people forgot things all the time, even Nobodies, Axel had.

It had been a near thing though, and it had taken a long, long time for him to conclusively recognize that something was wrong.

Looking back he started to pick up on things that didn't make sense, noticing actions that didn't have logical reasons for them. Small things, places he'd been where he'd had no reason to, missions that logically could not have been completed with the number of people they were assigned, others that had been routine suddenly being neglected with no one assigned to them.

The more he pushed himself to remember the more things didn't add up: Requisition orders with no source, supplies that mysteriously vanished without anyone signing them out, seashell's in his pockets that he picked up at strange times, the list went on.

At a distance it was barely noticeable, under scrutiny though the logic of his memories began to fall apart, and look closer still and things started to look different, and it became apparent there was a person sized hole that would explain everything.

From what could be inferred from his memories the missing figure was a she as he addressed her using female conventions –a fact laboriously uncovered after much mental prodding, and many painstaking memory examination, and restoration attempts, and though he couldn't see them he could guess that _she_ was somewhere around the same height as Roxas.

It was like a photo where somebody had been cut out, or a scene from a play where one of the actors was missing.

The 'script' hadn't been adjusted though, and the scene still played out exactly the same despite the sudden hole in reality where a person was supposed to be. So when, looking through his memories, he found himself addressing an invisible entity and _leaning on them_ or handing them something only to watch a sea-salt ice cream float in mid air he knew something was going on.

The jump to Namine had been immediate.

Namine had power over memories, and given his association with her for almost the collective entirety of her existence he had a passing familiarity with her brand of magic. Whatever had happened she was involved.

Even among Nobodies her powers had been unconventional. Flame wielders were a dime a dozen, but memories, that was rare.

Despite his fondness for her –as much as a Nobody could be fond, he held a distinct lack of fondness for the ones who had exploited her, both in the organization and out.

The tiny part of him that is his conscience remarks that he fits in that category.

Those in the Organization had of course all ended up gone at his hands in one way or another, the Organization didn't accept traitors after all, but the one's who'd later captured Roxas had escaped him.

He found himself gritting his teeth at the thought of them, if they were still clinging to existence somewhere out there he would make them pay one day, no doubt they were responsible, in one way or another they were responsible for all their suffering, Roxas', Namine's, _her's._

Even Nobodies had dignity, but they had denied them even that.

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That night as he lays there he knows what he is planning on doing is stupid and reckless.

Lately he has been trying to recall a name or a face, from what he knows about memories and Namine's special brand of interference it will not be easy.

He very much doubts he'll be able to recall a face anytime soon, but a name, a name he can manage, if he can just push himself hard enough.

He won't be able to recall a name, whatever exactly happened, or whatever is interfering with his ability to recall is too powerful for that, but he can circumvent that if he can recall a memory where it was spoken aloud or read from text.

Out of the two a verbal confirmation is far easier to be certain about; after all it's a little hard picking out the tiny blips in random text the name represents until he finds it. He may never have even read it in the first place.

Voices though, random blips in voices speaking are far easier to pin down when he already knows where to look.

Finding a memory where he addressed the hole in his remembered reality wasn't hard and he'd quickly grown adept at recalling them over the course of his last attempts.

Like everything about her the words are jumbled, whole conversations grow distorted, it's fairly simple recovering them and he's managed to restore most of them as they aren't directly tied to her so much as aimed _at her._

Whatever is at work it is targeted, but it's harder to erase a name spoken by someone else, it might still be tied to the individual but it manages to slip through enough to be detectable.

It's difficult, more than difficult. Requiring a combination of lip reading and incredible amounts of will power and inner focus, as well as detailed knowledge and experience of how his own mind works along with staggering mental acuity.

This is the fourth time he has attempted anything so direct. The last left him nearing unconsciousness and bleeding from his nose and ears.

The pressure in his head builds the more he pushes; it's a good thing he's in a medical ward, he knows he'll likely be needing the care they can provide, he's fairly sure he'll be able to pull back before he overexerts himself to the point he dies but it'll be close.

It's as if reality itself is pushing back against him, his very mind rebels against it, shying away from the words.

Gathering his will he pushes, he is so close.

 _Just a... little... longer..._

Xion, the name blurs strangely in his mind, but with enough strength he is able to overcome the resistance. It drains him, he's left panting and bent over on his side as he chokes down bile, but it is worth it to at last have a name for the girl who's face he can't remember.

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 **An: I really don't have a very good idea of where to go with this other than the obvious general plot of Hp, so if you can, give me some ideas to work with in your reviews: which part of the books specifically do you want to show up, how does the Kh side of things influence and/or interact with the Hp stuff, ect.**


	3. Chapter 3 - The Grangers

**An: Sorry for the wait. It took a bit longer than expected.**

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Dan Granger looked around bemusedly, looking for anyone who might match the description of the rather outlandish sounding friend their daughter had described to them.

Behind him he could hear his wife Emma Granger as she once again asked their daughter if she had given the right time, "Hermione are you sure you told him the correct time?"

Their daughter for her part rolled her eyes exasperatedly, "Yes mum, I told him we'd be arriving at all little past eight he should be here soon."

Currently the three of them were waiting on the other side of The Leaky Cauldron's magical doorway which they had just exited.

They were a little early but Emma tended to get antsy about these sorts of things if they didn't arrive at least a little earlier than the stated meeting time.

Thankfully it was only another minute before Hermione spotted him, waving her arm to get his attention, "Harry!"

Giving a wink to his wife who huffed in response to his gentle teasing he turned back to his daughter, following her line of sight to the figure currently exiting out of a dark alleyway with a dingy little sign overhead proclaiming its name as Knockturn who had turned at her loud exclamation.

Instead of the usual wizard robes that he'd come to view as normal daily wear for the inhabitants of the strange world he'd found his daughter inhabiting he was dressed instead in a faintly sinister looking coat made from some strange black material that wasn't quite leather but resembled it.

Apart from a small showing of collarbone the rest of him was similarly adorned with the shadowy material and his feet were clad in tall silver trimmed boots of a similar composition while his hands were similarly covered, although the gloves he wore lacked any silver trim, altogether the effect was quite striking.

It was his hair and his height though that really stood out, and they were immediately noticeable.

As he came closer Dan found himself revaluating his previous assessment that Hermione had been exaggerating when she had described his strange appearance.

His hair was just as Hermione had described it, a bright red that stood out even among wizards, and styled in effortless spikes that somehow managed to look natural –and Hermione assured them were.

He had thought her description had been exaggerated, but standing next to 'Axel' as they introduced themselves he was forced to admit she hadn't been exaggerating in the slightest when she had said was almost twice her height.

Dan wasn't particularly tall but the boy already came up to his shoulder, and that wasn't even counting the hair!

Dear god the hair! Dan felt a little faint just looking at it, there was no way that could be natural. Was he some kind of punk?!

He swayed a little on his feet as his eyes swept over the brightly haired figure in front of him, taking in the coat and... _were those facial tattoos!_ Just what kind of boys was his daughter befriending?!

"Name's Axel, but you can call me Harry. Got it memorized?"

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Stepping through the silver door's of Gringotts the Grangers were greeted by the vast marble hall that made up its main lobby.

The imposing and opulent display of wealth and power the place presented never failed to awe Dan, though Hermione's friend seemed unaffected by the sight.

Being as the magicals called a 'Muggle' he had only ever visited the wizarding bank a handful of times, but he supposed for someone who seemed so at ease in the magical world as Hermione's friend did the effect might have worn off after seeing it so many times.

He supposed some of that lack of interest was probably a bit more understandable when they inevitably ended up waiting in line for a goblin to be free, and he spent the wait alternatively examining the long counters stretching along the room's length with doors leading off to the vault passageways and around a hundred goblins sitting at them, and watching Hermione enthusiastically prodding her friend for information about what he'd been up to, though it might have been closer to an interrogation.

Harry for his part was deflecting her questions with a laidback attitude that he suspected was deliberately calculated to annoy.

Judging from the silent growls it seemed to be working.

Thankfully they didn't have to wait long before they were exchanging their pounds for Galleons.

Rather than exchanging Muggle currency or asking for a withdrawal Harry who it seemed seemed to have some business at the bank besides just accompanying them moved aside to a separate counter next to theirs, casually tossing the waiting Goblin a gorgeous orange crystal as they watched with interest.

"Here, pure Flame Crystal, made it myself. Light that baby up and you might just not wake up again."

It was clear from Hermione's expression that she dearly wanted to ask just what a Flame Crystal was and how exactly he had made one.

Though Dan was a little more worried about some of the implications of what he'd just said.

The goblin for his part examined the crystal closely, tapping at it with his finger heedless of the warning, and peering at it using several pairs of eyeglasses. Apparently satisfied he carefully placed the obviously valuable item into a finely lined box before handing it off to another goblin and barking a short order in a harsh tongue.

The junior goblin hurriedly scampered away before returning with something that resembled a Muggle briefcase accompanied by another box, handing both to his superior while looking at his daughter's friend with wide eyes.

Dan wondered if that was something he should be concerned about.

The elder goblin for his part seemed unperturbed, briefly looked them over before placing them onto the counter and sliding them towards Axel, or Harry –he seemed to use them interchangeably, with long fingers.

He spoke, this time in English, as their recipient opened the case, for the moment ignoring the other parcel.

"We had to reach out to some of our more... reclusive clients to fulfil your requests. They seem... to have experienced your patronage in the past. They were rather surprised to find you were working with us."

"They seemed to be under the impression you were... rendered... indisposed, some time ago."

The cloaked redhead looked up briefly at his words, 'reclusive' being something he took to mean 'off-world,' and the Grangers who were listening found themselves curious at but not really understanding.

The goblins as he had found it turned out did a stiff trade with their Moogle counterparts in some of the rarer ores as well as several common synthesis ingredients that weren't perhaps rare but were definitely uncommon.

Turning his attention back to examining the row of faintly glowing bottles that filled the foam lined case he shut the lid and gave the elder goblin a short nod before turning to the accompanying box and opening it to reveal a silver chain and several rings which he pocketed after examining.

"I thought they might be, well everything seems to be here, guess I'll see you around, call me if you need any more crystals."

Then with a tug he turned to face the family accompanying him, case hanging from one hand. "Well, guess we better be off, wouldn't want to keep you waiting."

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 **An: At the moment I don't really know how much of a major character Hermione will be but I feel like the two of them would get along and he'd be a better friend than cannon Ron and 'himself.' On that topic at the moment he's not really 'friends' with many of the students and that's probably not going to really change. Hermione's an exception and there'll be others but they aren't likely to reach Roxas/Xion level of connections with him.**

 **On a side note I liked the idea of the Moogles having a presence on whatever world the Hogwarts one is, plus it serves as a way for him to get synthesis stuff and 'potions,' and 'accessories' ect. so that's where the idea for them trading/working with the goblins came from.**


	4. Chapter 4 - Locked Hearts

**An: In case anyone's confused the 'other' Lockhart is Tifa.**

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"So Lockhart eh?"

Distant memories from his adolescence of another Lockhart and a childhood crush rose to the surface at the utterance of the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher's name.

"Seems a bit full of himself doesn't he?"

Blaise Zabini, he thinks, has a gift for understating an issue. Lockhart is... well an idiot.

Some part of him finds it particularly insulting that someone so obviously foppish could share a name with someone he once had a crush on, even if they're not actually related, separated by whole worlds as they are.

Zabini isn't exactly what he'd call a friend, more cool acquaintance, but they get on well enough though. The two of them have been sitting there staring idly at the Head Table examining the new arrival for the last several minutes while the gradually filling hall waited for the arrival of McGonagall and the first years.

So far Axel is not impressed, and judging from the sour look on their Head of House's face neither is Hogwarts's Potions Master.

Idly he wonders how long it is until something happens to this one. Beside him Blaise seems to be mirroring his thoughts, "Ten Galleons Snape offs him."

It's intended as a joke, but if it happened he doesn't think either of them would particularly mind. Given the looks of disgust at the sighing of the female halfwits at some of the other tables his fellow housemates are wearing it's a sentiment the rest of Slytherin shares.

The rest of Hogwarts seemed almost shocked when he was sorted into the silver and green House, but looking around he finds himself enjoying his company, and most of their shared mindset.

The rest of the school seems to forget that Slytherin does not necessarily equate with evil, and that not all of them are Blood Purist supporters.

Most of them find Malfoy and his lackeys just as intolerable as the rest of them, only it's worse for them because they actually share a House with them.

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Before long McGonagall is back and the sorting is underway.

Besides him Blaise's eyes glaze over as she recites the endless list of names and Axel watches on through half lidded eyes as his mind numbs.

Further down the table Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis seemed to have already given up on trying to stay awake and were lying slumped against the table.

They're tired and bored after the long –very much non optional, train ride, and the food trolley's lack of any real food doesn't help. Pumpkin Pasties and Chocolate Frogs does not a proper meal make.

Somewhere around, "Davidson," and "Dawley," Zabini finds his head drooping and he snaps it up before it lands on his plate. A loud rumbling greets his return to the land of the living and Axel brings a hand to his own stomach as it gurgle's in pain. They really have been waiting for what seems like forever.

Watching her, Axel thinks if they weren't going to eat soon he'd rather join Davis and go to sleep, the carriages took forever and the moment they'd got out they'd had to wait for first the rest of their schoolmates and then the sorting.

Nobody's don't need to eat, and even as a human he has always been able to sustain himself on his own power, that doesn't stop his stomach from growling in hunger though, and right now though he'd rather not waste the energy shutting it up, he likes food.

Letting out a yawn he watched as Beatrice Waldock was sorted into Ravenclaw before McGonagall called out, "Weasley, Ginevra."

He watched with slightly more interest as a pale faced girl with locks almost as red as his shakily stepped forward and sat as the Sorting Hat was placed on her head.

The Weasleys were something of an interesting family, he got along with the twins pretty well, and he sometimes played chess with the youngest Ronald. During his time in the Organization he'd occasionally played a game against the other members, it had been something to fill up the empty hours when they weren't away on missions and he enjoyed the familiarity.

The eldest sibling still at Hogwarts Percy was something of a stickler for the rules but since he wasn't one to get caught their relationship was amiable.

Somehow though despite Fred and George's trickster natures they'd all ended up in Gryffindor, and he wondered if the only daughter of the family would end up there too.

Needless to say there was a loud outbreak of murmuring when after a prolonged silence the Sorting Hat loudly let out, "SLYTHERIN!" instead.

Even the usually composed McGonagall looked surprised at the Hat's pronouncement, managing to keep her composure –if barely, as she removed the hat and gave the trembling girl a gentle push toward their table.

The youngest Weasley's Head of House merely raising an eyebrow for his part, the ever taciturn Snape remaining as blanked faced as ever, an inscrutable expression upon his face.

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The first staff meeting of the year was more of an excuse for the Hogwarts Professors to get together and chatter after the long summer spent apart on holiday than a meeting that existed to serve any real purpose.

Thankfully no one had seen fit to inform Gilderoy about the unofficial gathering that happened every year in the staffroom so they were left to gossip and share news in peace.

This year the subject had invariably turned to Ginny Weasley's sorting, her six older brothers having been sorted into Gryffindor the Hat's pronouncement of Slytherin when placed on her head was naturally a rather unforseen turn of events and very unexpected.

"Another surprising sorting this year." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled so hard that some of those watching almost expected them to violently combust. He seemed to be enjoying the ensuing metaphoric pandemonium the girl's sorting had caused amongst his colleagues.

The Head of Gryffindor meanwhile was too busy rolling her eyes in exasperation at the Headmaster's obvious enjoyment of the situation to notice the looks the others were giving her.

"Yes first Harry Potter and now a Weasley in Slytherin who would have thought?" Professor Sprout gave a quick sideways glance at her fellow Head of Houses's suddenly violently clenched jaw before he eyes darted to glance around at the others.

"Come now Minerva was that bitterness I heard?" asked Professor Dumbledore's genial tone. The ensuing grinding of teeth was almost audible.

Everyone knew she was still rather sore over the loss of the son of Lily and James after he'd been sorted into Slytherin, that the boy was as gifted in Transfiguration as his father had been only served to rub it in.

It was something of an open secret that she'd also been rather hopping he'd inherited some of James Potter's talent on a broom, it was rather unorthodox to have a first year on one of the school Quidditch teams, but since the graduation of the legendary Charlie Weasley Gryffindor had been in desperate need of a competent seeker.

Of course his sorting had put an end to that plan and Slytherin had rather predictably ended the year with another Quidditch Cub win, and to the surprise of no one, Slytherin's eighth House Cup victory in a row.

Now with the loss of the youngest Weasley to the Serpent House it looked like Mt. Minerva was about to blow.

Silently it was agreed to let her tire herself out on her unfortunate Transfiguration students.

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 **An: I know I seem to be taking a while, but like I've been saying I've kind of been getting stuck. I got a bit of a brainwave recently though so hopefully I should get back to updating much quicker like I usually do with my other stuff.**

 **I've always felt like Axel is very much a Slytherin, he's crafty and a very good at looking out for number one while using others and generally sneaking around – something we see at Castle Oblivion, and in his ability to play both sides of the Organization. He's also not really one to follow the rules if they don't serve him and he's pretty morally grey.**

 **As far as ambition goes his and Saix's plan use the Organization for their own means was pretty ambitious, they're not the sort of people you mess around with or casually betray.**

 **Now of course he's loyal – importantly only to his friends and himself, and pretty brave, as well as extremely smart, but I really don't see him fitting the other Houses portrayals of their members nearly as well. Give me your thoughts though, which house do you think he should have been in.**


	5. Chapter 5 - Rising Tide

**An: I think I'm going to be downsizing the chapters to this sort of size more often. It just feels more natural sometimes.**

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Hermione sometimes wondered about her friend. Harry, Axel? –she sometimes got a bit confused with all his name switching.

From the first meeting on the Hogwarts Express, stretched out over one of the seats like some kind of great overgrown cat, there was something very different about him that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

It might have been the way positively loomed over her whenever the two of them stood next to each other, or the ridiculous spikes his hair somehow managed to grow in, but there was something different about him, Harry Potter was not like other boys.

Magic was something that came easy for him, at first she'd been silently jealous, but later when he'd found her huddled under a broken sink, water spraying everywhere, with a troll standing over her she'd been too terrified to register anything but hysteric gratitude when a flame laden chakram had come soaring out of nowhere, calling the rampaging troll's attention to the figure who had appeared in the broken doorway.

She'd told no one about the fight, but silently shaking as the school nurse fussed over her as he told a completely false but convincing story about the troll slicing it's neck open on a exposed shard of pipe after being tripped up by the charm they'd learnt about in class that very day she knew she had been right.

He wasn't like other boys, but she would keep his secrets.

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A year later standing in Gringotts watching as he tossed the waiting goblin a flame red crystal the colour of the setting sun and curiosity burned in her. Later she would corner him and get him to tell her all about it. In the end he always indulged her curiosity.

She'd been amazed by his tales of other worlds when he had told her the year before, but here was proof, something tangible, and she revelled in it. Here was something that could be _hers_.

From the first moment he taught her about Synthesis she loved it. It was like potions, and transfiguration, and charms all rolled into one and mixed into so much else. Slowly she learnt the rules as he worked her through the process, showing her to make simple charms from tiny crystals.

She would travel the world's one day she decided. Journey to new places she had never dreamed of and see new things she wouldn't even be able to begin to believe.

* * *

Later watching the Weasley girl get sorted into Slytherin Hermione knew she would do well, if for no other reason than if no one else then at least Harry would look out for her. He wouldn't let her come to any harm.

Something told her some of the other Slytherin's wouldn't be as welcoming.

The next day she spots her trailing behind him and she thinks that she was right.

* * *

When Lockhart unleashed a pack of Cornish Pixies into the classroom she knew he'd been right, Lockhart was useless. Something burned in her to know that such obvious incompetence could be allowed to taint their education.

Once she would have tried to bury it, the result of years of public schooling and being told to always obey like a good little child, to look up to her teachers and adults, and having to train herself to ignore the obvious faults in the things people said or did no matter how obviously wrong because no matter how smart she was she was only a child and worse a _girl_.

Sighing she took out a book from the bag at her feet as beside her the Flurry of Dancing Flames absently set their wings alight while their classmates ran about, a nifty charm she'd read about keeping the creatures from bothering her as she flicked through the pages.

Years of learning to shut her mouth, to not think, tried to smother the building resentment towards the people who allowed such travesties she felt. Deep within her the desire to travel across the stars grew.

Idly she wondered what her life would be like if she hadn't had a friend with Axel's intelligence and open-mindedness.

* * *

"Hermione this is Ginny."

Peering up from her book as she sat in the Library she looked curiously at the tiny redhead peering out nervously from behind Harry's leg.

"Hello Ginny."

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 **An: I know I haven't been updating anything lately but I haven't been feeling too good. Right now I'm trying to get new chapters for stuff up but I seem to be suffering from writer's block so things might stay slow for awhile.**


	6. Chapter 6 - Behind the Curtain

**An: Has anyone else been noticing the disappearing line breaks that seem to be occurring on some stories?**

 **It's been happening to me a lot recently and I've been noticing some stories that I know use them that seem like they would normally have one there but aren't even though the rest of the story or chapter has them throughout.**

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"You know if you keep frowning like that your face will get stuck."

Hermione jolted slightly, startled, mindful not to jostle the delicate mechanism cradled in her gloved hands. She hadn't heard the door open. Hermione had a tendency to get lost in her work he'd noted.

"Oh, Axel what are you doing here?" She turned back to glance at him briefly over her shoulder from her position standing at the table she was working at, before turning her head back to the bench in front of her.

The room they were in was an unused potions classroom that had been modified to look more like a cross between a tinkerer's workshop and a Muggle laboratory. Looking around it brought to mind the image of some kind of eccentric genius of dubious morality's lair. Truthfully it reminded him a little of Ansem's labs.

The lanky boy shrugged his shoulders, "thought I'd drop by and see what you were up to."

Hermione shrugged somewhat awkwardly in return and glanced back at him, "have you decided what we're doing. Not that the map hopping hasn't been fun but I was getting the impression that you had something a little more long term and imminent planned."

There was no hesitance there, no doubt that there were considerations for her featured in his plans. That he wouldn't do anything without at least informing her.

The certainty in her voice tugged at his newly regained heart. Another friend to add to the very short list he'd made in his life.

It was probably pitiful that that list added to a grand total of five.

"You know I won't be able to take anybody off world for a while, not much to do until then." He gave a shrug. "Not much else _to do_ until then. You don't want to run off and leave your family behind, and it's useful to have an identity down so I'll probably hang around until you're ready to skip town."

"Besides," he gave her a grin, "getting to other countries is a bit easier to manage and we may as well have a look around."

She gave a snort, not looking up from her work, "so ditching class and sneaking out then."

"Well it's not as if Binns misses us, besides it's not like they teach us anything interesting on the days we're gone, and we hand all our work in on time."

She blew at a strand of hair that had fallen out of the massive bunch she'd pulled them in at the back of her head but seemed content to ignore him while she fiddled with the complicated device she was holding now that their short lived conversation was over.

For all the fuss she made about it, her hair was wilder than his, maybe she should cut it or invest in some dreadlocks like Xaldin. Idly he wandered what she'd look like wielding a lance.

Truth be told Axel was seriously reconsidering his decision to confine his activities to Hogwarts nine months of the year.

It wasn't like all the spells and potions and odd bits of this world's history weren't interesting, and yes the extensive library on the diverse approaches to magic the inhabitants of this world took was nice, but it wasn't like he wasn't able to just break in if he moved on elsewhere if he really needed one of the tomes or innocuous little artefacts lying around, and there were other magical institutions and libraries that were likely just as well equipped.

Face to face instruction had its benefits but it could only go so far, and it wasn't like he couldn't find other teachers elsewhere if one of them really needed one for something. Something which he thought was unlikely; Hermione was as much of a childhood genius as Zexion had been, mastering her world's magic faster than him at times.

There was only so far having someone to teach you face to face and answer your questions could go anyway. Even more so for someone who'd come from a world where everyone used magic as easily as breathing and extraordinary feats were commonplace.

Like on a lot of worlds spell casting on Radiant Garden was something that tended to be more about the individual's own unique approach, usually accompanied by a standardized set of simplified elemental spells that most picked up even if they weren't a dedicated mage.

Axel had never really been known for his magecraft, that was more Zexion's and Vexen's thing, but he'd always had a interest for it and had been reasonably talented when he was still Lea, and his years in the Organization hadn't done anything but sharpened that.

In the Organization power was hoarded, and talent at magic –primarily in combat, was something which you relied on to survive.

Busy fighting for his existence and surviving the internal power struggles of the most dangerous group in existence, time for the finer aspects tended to be sparse; he'd picked up a trick here or there but there'd never been a dedicated study.

In the Organization overwhelming power tended to win out against subtlety, and you needed every bit of it you could get to survive.

Now though for the first time in a very long time he had a complete lack of anything more pressing than a growing urge to get off world, it was... strange.

Between Lockhart's incompetence and a singular incident during transfiguration where a time delayed dungbomb had gone off ending in them evacuating the classroom things had been markedly placid.

Two months into term and the most exciting thing to happen had been a rogue bludger which had narrowly missed the row of seating he'd been sitting in during the opening Quidditch match of the season, and a cursed diary that reeked of darkness that he'd discovered amongst the youngest Weasleys' things when one of the older Slytherin's who evidently didn't believe in the notion house solidarity upended the contents of her battered second hand trunk onto the floor of the house common room.

The tiny redhead had been looking close to tears when he'd decided to intervene, egged on by that tiny voice held over from his time with Isa that'd he'd come to recognize as his conscience.

An interesting spell had left his wand – interesting thing, useful for delicate casting, without him really thinking, hoisting the boy by the seat of his pants into the air with a startled yelp, as he set about helping her gathering her things.

She was a bit like a puppy really. It was almost like he was back in the Organization again, and he sometimes found himself wondered why it was he always seemed to pick up strays. Introducing the younger girl to Hermione had been a little like introducing a new cat to a house that already had a dog though.

At first there had been a bit of tension between them, but she'd taken to Hermione with the same wide-eyed clinginess that she'd taken to him with before long.

Perhaps, he mused, there would be someone to genuinely miss him besides Hermione if he were to suddenly disappear from this world after all.

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 **An: I know it seems a little out of character for Hermione of all people to be ditching classes but Axel** _ **is**_ **taking them around the world to explore all sorts of places so she's far more interested in exotic crumbling ruins and foreign lands and strange magicians than staying in a mouldy old castle masquerading as a school being taught things she's already learnt or being bored by the lack of challenge her classes offer.**

 **They still attend classes just not the ones that involve Binns or any of the other incompetent teachers, and** _ **occasionally**_ **the more revision oriented ones the more competent teachers sometimes teach. Most of the time they're out of the castle it's on the weekend or at night.**


	7. Chapter 7 - St Petersburg

**An: Merry Christmas. In case anyone's wondering Straskonov's painting is not a real artwork.**

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Axel tilted his head as he took in the painting in front of him. Straskonov's 'The Wondering Monk' was a wonderful piece –and while he wasn't one to admit it, he held a great appreciation for art, even if he was terrible at making it.

It was a shame that he had never had time to take in the sights of the many worlds he'd travelled through during his organization days. The cultures were so fascinating.

His mother had been an artist, and he remembered often sitting and watching her paint when he was younger. Those had been some of the few happy memories he'd managed to cling on to. Most of his memories as Lea had faded away by the time he'd met Roxas.

Breathing deeply he smiled as his eyes took in the wonderful play of light and shadow captured in the strokes of thick oil on canvas centuries ago.

He remembered once when he was a child his mother had taken him to a place just like this. Radiant Garden had had an abundance of such places once. He was grateful that he'd ended up somewhere equally as culturally advanced. He couldn't imagine what he'd would have done if he'd ended up on one of the more primitive worlds.

The piece, one of Straskonov's remaining works, of which there were not many, depicted a fleeing monk set upon by wolves who tore at his clothes and flailing limbs.

Some might have found its subject matter gruesome, if not horrifying, but he found it wonderful nonetheless.

Despite his happiness the halls of art were riddled with less than pleasant reminders of things with which his nearly regained heart enjoyed tormenting him. Memories distant and near dredged themselves to the surface of his mind with every step he took, and no matter the happiness the paintings brought it was always tinged with sadness.

Closing his eyes he could almost feel those doe like orbs burning into him. Not accusing, never accusing, Namine had always been much too kind, but he almost wished the ghost of her that lingered in his memories would shout and rail rather than offer those sweet smiles that left his heart bleeding in regret.

They never should have split up, it had been so stupid. He'd left her to go after Kairi in some desperate and ill thought out attempt to use her to find Sora, to find Roxas, and what had that got him? Nothing, plans hastily made and poorly considered in tatters, and one last a failure to add to a never ending list.

In those few days before he'd died he'd never found her again, and in his heart he knew that something terrible had befallen her. He'd been unprepared for the self-loathing that came with having a heart; the ability to regret one's decisions on more than a logical level.

Gazing at centuries old masterpieces only served to highlight how amazing what Namine could do with only a pack of pencils and crayons was.

She would have been happier here, away from the scheming and awfulness, the constant duplicity, the never ending hell that was their lives, using others and being used.

With a sigh he ran his fingers through his hair and didn't bother to turn to look at the person who'd joined him while he'd been lost in his remembering.

Standing beside him the utmost tip of Hermione's hair only came up to his shoulder, which was saying something as the rest of her body stoped at his chest. His own hair was not inconsiderate but when it came to volume her hair was beyond prodigious.

The two of them were supposed be researching remembering potions in the library, instead here they were half way around the world four hundred miles from Moscow looking at art.

"You know, I don't understand why you like this one so much," Hermione tilted her head to the side. "I'll admit the painting itself is done well but there must be a hundred like it here, this _is_ an art museum after all."

* * *

It was snowing outside as the stepped through the doors into the street. Evening was just starting to fall and the old fashioned wrought iron street lights were starting to come on, lighting the stone paved roads.

Beside him Hermione pulled her scarf tight, and he let the flames contained within his body raise their heat. St Petersburg was beautiful but the weather was freezing.

Huddled together –or rather Hermione huddling into him in order to keep warm, to anyone else passing on the street they looked like just another of the young couple walking beside each other that littered the city's streets.

They'd cast the standard spells travellers used to blend in before they'd left so no one bothered them. His hair had darkened and flattened but beyond that to anyone looking they'd stayed almost exactly the same.

As they made their way along one of the waterways that carved through the city they kept an eye out for any food stalls or promising looking spots to buy something to eat.

"I think I like it here, do you think it gets much colder though?" Hermione pulled her coat around her tighter as they leant against the railing overlooking the water bellow the small bridge they'd stopped at.

He gave a shrug and held out the meat skewer they'd managed to procure from a nearby vendor for her. "Who knows?"

She took a bite and chewed with a contemplative look on her face that said she was thinking, "I suppose I'll work on those Ice Shards then." She made a face, "they're such a pain to grow."

"Well it's not like I can make them," he gave her a grin, "and somehow I don't think anything I make would be useful for making something to keep you from getting cold unless you want to make something that sets you on fire."

"Well that's always an option if I ever get bored." Pushing off the railing she gave him the wooden skewer to incinerate.

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 **An: Next chapter will move into next year and the plot will pick up. As for Hermione: Do you like her? Should she continue to feature more? Do you guys want to see more stuff like this? Let me know I'm not too sure what I want to do with her yet. Well that's all for me I hope you all have a good Christmas.**


	8. Chapter 8 - Star Shards

**An: It's been a while since I've posted a new chapter. I've been a bit bogged down the last couple of months, hopefully I can start uploading again with a bit of regularity now, if a bit slower than I used to.**

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Really she didn't know why Hogwarts was a boarding school, one that forced children to stay at school for months at a time, only going home for Christmas and Easter holidays at that.

Even most Muggle boarding schools allowed the option of going home over weekends, or barring that, at least more than three times a year.

With easy access to transportation methods like apparition and Floo it didn't make sense.

Of course even if they weren't going to make use of such transportation methods it didn't mean she wasn't. During the school year she made it a point to have dinner with her parents at home on weekends, and to visit often, well hidden rule breaking be damned.

Even budding young geniuses needed time with family; though she was confident the method she employed was vastly superior, Axel having finally gotten around to teaching her. For one thing it didn't make you want to throw up.

It was more than she could say for the Floo. She half had to wonder if the reason students didn't make use of the Network to visit home was perhaps simply because of how uncomfortable all conventional wizarding forms of transportation were. The magical transportation system's method of travel via fireplace was absolutely nauseating.

The old Hermione might have, when she was younger, dithered about it, but since being 'enlightened' as it were the self-imposed fetters that had formed sometime during childhood had slowly fallen away. In their place a renewed desire to discover and explore.

Such petty boundaries hardly mattered anymore. If a rule was logical then it only made sense to follow it because it represented a beneficial path of action.

The rules keeping her from leaving the castle served no real purpose therefore she ignored them; perhaps once in the days when the castle had served as the fortress it had been built as, holding at bay hordes of flame wielding Muggles, it would have made sense for families to send their children for months at a time.

Besides Hermione had long grown disillusioned to any romanticized ideals or notions relating to the presumed authority of the castle's adults, any lingering sense of awe or wonder for the castle that might have reinforced such an image of misplaced belief in their authority having long drained away.

It might have helped if more than a handful of them were actually in the slightest bit competent. She'd been very disappointed as a starry eyed first year to find out that half of school's staff were certifiable idiots.

The difference between what people believed versus the reality of how things actually were, Hermione had learnt, could be quite different.

The ancient castle was a lovely place, but compared to the great sights and cities of the world what was Hogwarts? A lovely and eccentric castle to be sure, one with an even lovelier library, but against the great towers of Sagrada Familia, or the great fountains and many sights of Rome? The Kremlin? The wonders of Istanbul? Prague? France?

No, Hogwarts was no wonder at all, and the control of its faculty over its students an illusion no more than smoke. They let themselves be caged by rules. Hermione would not be caged.

What did the one crumbling ruin of an institute long past its glory days, and the petty rules its impotent and woefully lacking staff attempted to pose upon their charges matter?

The old castle was wasted on the unmoving, stodgy old fools running it. Ineffectual, inept, fools the lot of them, old fashioned and outdated.

Thirty years ago Wizarding Britain had fallen behind, and it had stagnated ever since, the rest of the world surging ahead.

Frankly it was embarrassing. Only the thankfully much larger muggle half of her heritage, and the undeniable but long lost storied legacy of the distant past saved her from having to be completely embarrassed about coming from what would have been a very backwater World if the rest of the world had been like Wizarding Britain.

Brushing a clump of ringlets out of her face where the curling lock of hair had fallen with a huff, she pushed thoughts of the pathetic situation Magical Britain was currently languishing in out of her mind.

Currently she was on vacation in France with her parents, her first real visit –she didn't really count her trips with Axel, those had just been just a bit too brief to really count.

They'd been to France once or twice during their little 'outings,' observing the streets from rooftops and balconies, or mingling among the crowds, just another in the endless mass revelling bodies filling the streets, slipping through the streams of brightly dressed people.

Right now though the streets were empty of the crowds from her previous visits. At the moment her parents were at some obscure wine and cheese tasting. She'd graciously turned down an offer to join them.

Hermione made a face just thinking about it, taking a sip of her coffee to wipe away the bad taste suddenly filling her mouth at the just the thought. A wine and cheese kind of girl she was not, and she really hoped she never would be, something about it just seemed so... _ick!_

Humming to herself she peered at the unassuming fragments of crystal Axel had managed to procure for her, a steady trickle of customers making their way through the small cafe she was seated at as she worked.

Blinking she shook herself slightly to dispel the sudden disorientation her eyes brought with the sudden shift in the colours of the world around her.

She hadn't got the slightly unnatural glow under control yet, it was hardly noticeable in the early morning light but if it was any earlier she might have had second thoughts about activating them in such an open Muggle area; no need to call down the local magical law enforcement on her head.

The Star Shard, well... shards were fascinating. Peering at the shard fragments with her new eyes she watched in wrapped fascination as tiny sparks of light seemed to fizzle in unnaturally angular branching patterns like tiny bolts of lightning along invisible filaments.

Engrossed she hardly noticed the odd look the slivers of translucent crystal were getting from the tiny blond sitting at the table next to her while her oblivious farther flipped through a clearly wizarding paper.

Absentmindedly she slipped her hand into the pocket of her coat while her gaze remained focused on the shards of exceedingly rare material in front of her, pulling out a rather lovely mirror that just fit in the palm of her hand, and bringing it to her ear.

It was one of a small set of linked mirrors she'd managed to get a hold of from a dealer down in Prague who specialised in them.

Though talking him down from his frankly ridiculous prices had been arduous, until she'd convinced him that 'yes she actually did know what it was she was buying,' and 'no she wasn't just some ditzy kid on holiday looking to spend daddy's money on shiny trinkets.'

"Harry... you there? I picked up the shards you dropped off, they're really quite fascinating."

A muffled sound issued from the mirror in reply, causing Hermione to knit her brows in response.

"You know I'm probably not going to be able to get anything from this though." There was a pause while she waited for a reply, brows furrowing further, "You can tout my vaunted genius all you like it doesn't change facts."

Another muffled stream of words issued from the mirror, followed by loud splashing and muffled yelling.

"Harry? Axel? Where are you? I can't here you very well."

* * *

"Sorry can't hear you, what was that?! Whoops got to go, sorry little busy right now. Hermione, you there? Hello?"

Seven thousand two hundred miles away in a South American swamp, up to his chest in water, the illustrious number VIII of the infamous Organization XIII frantically tried to juggle the mirror he was holding in one hand while the other tried to keep a large snapping turtle at bay, trying not to drop it or get it wet.

Managing to force it away long enough to bring the magical 'phone' to his ear he had just enough time to grab a stick to beat it off as it snapped at him again.

Unfortunately swamp gas, plus trees, not to mention water everywhere meant being a living embodiment of the element fire wasn't much help here unless he wanted to take himself, and possibly half the forest down with the vicious beast.

Normally a being of the calibre of the Flurry of Dancing Flames wouldn't have to worry about getting his feet wet, even trekking through a swamp.

Unfortunately the sudden plunge from standing on firm if slightly sodden ground to being neck deep in water that was about as clean as the average dirty pond hadn't given him time to prepare for the sudden change in terrain.

He'd soon realized, even more unfortunately, that the particular patch of water he'd chosen to fall into –which he had formerly though to be solid ground, was home to a particularly large and aggressive specimen of the larger more magically inclined cousin of its North American neighbours.

Cursing himself and dodgy Moogle dealers who decided to pass off enticing locations of hidden caches in obscure places, Axel, once known as Lea, now Harry, and only sometimes Axel, fought valiantly, struggling back and forth with the unrelenting force he now found himself played against.

"And here I thought I was done with my fair share of crappy missions, well my amphibious friend I guess I'll just have to show you who's boss, got it memorised?"

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	9. Chapter 9 - Flame of Revolution

**An: I promised Ginny would make a reappearance a while back, well she's finally here.**

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The cloaked figure shifted, glancing around in a manner that was distinctly suspect, eyes darting around furtively before exiting Knockturn.

"Hey Ginny! Over here!" The loud shout rang through the air.

The black cloaked figure cringed, shoulders bunching up, body hunching in on itself before turning its head to look at where the shout had come from. Turning around the figure's shoulders relaxed as she saw who had called her name.

"Fred, George!" she hissed, "I thought we said I'd meet you at the pet shop down near Scrivenshaft's later!"

One of the twins raised his hands in defence, "whoa, don't blow your top, mum was nearly on to us!"

"Yeah Gin, really!" chimed the other, an earnest look on his face as he cowered before his much shorter sister, nodding earnestly.

The youngest Weasley had taken after their mother in the tongue-lashing and draconian punishment department, and even as a child her brothers had been wary of upsetting her.

To the detriment of her siblings currently quailing under her furious gaze her time at Hogwarts had done nothing to quash this, in fact it seemed to have the opposite effect when after those first tenuous weeks, under the droll voice and surly presence of Severus Snape her equally terrifying Head of House she really started to bloom.

A year in Slytherin had done nothing to temper her fiery rages, only serving to increase her worrying creativity at inflicting torturous punishments that were enough to reduce grown men to tears. Already one year in and her temper and propensity for inflicting harsh punishments on those who annoyed her was legendary.

"Hmph," Ginny glared at them suspiciously before deciding that they were telling the truth, then increasing her stares intensity, enjoying watching them sweat.

Just when it looked like they were about to erupt blubbering into tears she decided they'd suffered enough, turning her nose up in the air with a huff.

Really! Watching them cower was almost pathetic, her glare wasn't anywhere near the intensity and power of Professor Snape's. She was still learning how to replicate his impressive glower but so far no success.

"So did you get the goods," began the twin on the left, who cringed as she glowered at them impressively –if they were sufficiently recovered to be asking questions she clearly wasn't trying hard enough.

"Only," said the other, carrying on where his twin left off, "out of concern for our wonderful and most magnanimous sister's safety from our dear mother's wrath should items of less than repute be found to be in her possession."

She cocked an eyebrow imperiously. "That is to say," picked back up the other, "we would love to see what our loving, and most dearest sister–

"the apple of our eye, our stars, our moon, our most gracious and glorious sister–"

"vivacious is she," chimed the other twin, to which his brother nodded knowingly.

A smile tugged at her mouth, just the faintest upturning at the corners of her mouth, and she made sure to brutally crush it before either of the twins noticed.

"Indeed vivacious Ginevra, oh most wonderful and merciful Ginevra , indeed we only wish to see what she has procured," here he gazed at her imploringly with the look of a sad put-upon dog while his twin continued with the sucking up.

"Of course only so that we might prevent and misfortune on her part should the item in questions arise the suspicion of our dear mother–"

"Oh most definitely." The declaration was followed by more nodding.

"Undoubtedly!" Fred, George, whichever, brought their pleads to a close with a cry. "So Gin what do you say? Can we see?"

Ginny fixed their now positively angelic faces with their trembling lips and wet eyes with her very best sneer.

She lasted perhaps a minute. Try hard as she might she inevitably crumpled at the sight of their faces, turning her head away from the sight in disgust, thrusting the heavily wrapped box she'd procured down the alley at them.

They tore through the multiple layers of charmed smell proof wrapping with looks of absolute glee; really, and people said she was the youngest!

Well it might be true but clearly she was the most mentally developed of the lot, all it took was a shiny new, or in this case smelly, toy and their brains reverted to the minds of four year olds. She watched the dance around the street clutching their new toy with disgust.

The twins had commissioned her to acquire a very particular cursed cheese, " _two weeks of diarrhea upon ingestion guaranteed,"_ since as they put it she was the one who had an in with, "those shady Knockturn types."

Being the benevolent, and loving, kind person she was, she'd agreed after slamming them with a hefty fee, with the agreement that they'd keep their mother distracted while she got 'the goods'.

What? it wouldn't do to let them get too complacent and think she'd do something like that for free just because she was their sister.

Visiting Kaliacrofts, "Procurers of Rare Cheeses since 1788" hadn't been a particularly pleasant experience, but the generous compensation she'd so graciously accepted from the twins for her services made the smell bearable –the things she did for family, really!

Being family might immediately rate them above the rest of the rabble but it wouldn't do to let them get _too_ ahead of themselves. Without her they were purposeless, free of direction or purpose. Why it was her practically her duty to guide them, to guide them under her firm, guiding, sometimes tyrannical, steely fisted, iron gloved, hand.

Thankfully they made it back to the Leaky Cauldron before she could get started on one of her rants about how, _"Freedom is Slavery! Subjugation is liberation! Surrender yourself to these truths you pigs in human clothing!"_

And so the annual end of holiday crowds that flooded Diagon continued on by, unaware of just how lucky they were that she hadn't spoiled it for them with a premature showing of the speech she'd been saving for her glorious uprising ever since she'd first shouted the words at her siblings at age four, hands firmly planted in front of her on top of a bit of pipe she'd managed to acquire from Arthur Weasley's shed to serve as her sword.

The masses, she consoled herself, weren't quite ready for her by now infamous –at least in the Weasley household, call to arms. She was still putting the final touches on it anyway.

Lost in thoughts of her glorious –and bloody, ascension to power she almost missed the voices calling their names as they joined the rest of their family at the leaky cauldron.

"Ginny! Where have you been dear?! Fred! George! I told you not to lose her!" Molly Weasley fretted over her children as soon as they were in sight, and Ginny bore her hugs and head patting with good grace.

Ginny liked it very much when her mother fussed over her. Molly Weasley was one of the only ones apart from her husband Arthur Weasley, and Ginny's older brothers Bill, and Charlie Weasley, who could get away with touching her so casually.

Well hugs from Percy were alright too sometimes she supposed, and she never turned down genuine affection from the twins. Ron was a bit of git but he was alright too she guessed. It was nice to have family.

She might have to lock them up in some hidden bunker somewhere for a bit though –just in case someone got any ideas about trying to stop her glorious revolt, it wouldn't do for anyone to try anything.

Unconsciously she blocked out the talking, and scolding –mostly on her mother's part that was going on all around her, her eyes going misty as she lost herself in visions of glorious conquest and the fires of revolution.

The sights of falling regimes crushed under her heel flittered past her vision accompanied by the sounds of terrified screaming and the chanting of angry crowds.

"Oh Ginny look who we ran into," Making an effort to wipe the dopy smile off her face she shook her head to clear the sudden cobwebs that had taken root in her brain, her mother was talking to her.

The Weasley matron was waving over a figure bearing a similar dark coat to the one she was wearing –now open over her clothes, who'd been chatting to the barman in a nearby corner.

The figure in question turned to them at her mother's shout, hair even redder than her own making its way through the midday crowd towards them.

"Oh, Harry!" personality doing a one-eighty she beamed up at him as the lanky boy made his way over, waving his arm lazily in greeting. She had to crane her neck to see his face, it felt like he'd grown a foot since the last time she'd seen him.

Behind her the twins shared meaningful looks, shaking their heads, "nutters that one." Luckily –for the twins at least, Ginny didn't hear their disparaging comments about her mental well being.

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 **An: Ginny's "Subjugation is liberation!" line is a reference to Satsuki Kiryūin's "facts of this world" speech. I added it when halfway through writing this chapter I noticed Ginny seemed to be sharing some character/personality traits with her.**

 **Satsuki's speech in turn was supposedly heavily inspired by George Orwell's, 'Nineteen Eighty-Four,' and the slogans of the Party which featured within it.**

 **I think it's fair to say which direction Slytherin Ginny's aspirations are heading.**


	10. Chapter 10 - The Rat in the Owl

**An: Next chapter's the boggart so review with what you think our intrepid protagonist's will be, and leave any thoughts/suggestions on what you think it** _ **should**_ **be.**

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Axel leaned back into his seat's worn upholstery as the skies rained down overhead. Across from him Hermione leant her head against loosely curled fingers. Beside her Ginny was leaning against the tiny window looking out at the grey sky overhead, watching the many turrets and towers draw near.

The ride up to the school was warm and dry, but outside rain was pelting down. Axel felt a little sorry for the first years who'd be crossing by boat.

The train ride had become a yearly tradition, though for Axel one of his own volition rather than enforced necessity. The other students couldn't just step through a swirling portal after all. His body, and more importantly, newly regained heart might not be able to take it if he tried to cross worlds but he had more than enough to get around.

Well his young body probably could, but his heart was much too unstable and fragmented to make it if he tried for anything longer than Malta to Cairo the long way.

Ginny and Hermione of course took the train with him, hence why it had become a tradition. He wasn't adverse to giving them free rides, something they both took advantage of since Hermione could only manage small jumps, and he hadn't got around to teaching Ginny yet –she wasn't quite old enough, and Hermione had only started recently. His newly acquired protégé was going to have to wait.

Mentorship, as he'd surprisingly found out during his Organization days, was something he rather enjoyed, and was surprisingly good at.

It was also a slight bonus that unlike Roxas and Xion who he'd occasionally attempted, key word being _attempted_ , to teach a little subtlety and finesse when it came to their fire spells, and spell casting in general, Ginny didn't have a quite frankly ridiculous affinity for Light or suffer from occasional power surges and a lack of control for anything that rated under a mild explosion. Level a building but leave the one next to it standing? Sure, but light a birthday candle? Goodbye eyebrows and anyone standing in a ten metre radius.

Really it was ridiculous how terrible either of them had been for anything that didn't involve shooting out giant laser beams of light that wasn't ridiculously, and totally needlessly, pointlessly over the top and excessive in every way.

Quite frankly it was a little unnerving to not have to duck and drop anything he was carrying every time he felt the magic building up from someone he'd taught.

The train rides were usually spent playing card games and inventing strange rules for each match, like having to eat a random mix of mystery sweets, bought from the trolley, mashed together into a paste every time a card was drawn, or sharing the bizarre spells they'd found, like a variant of the Slug-vomiting Charm that instead of slugs made you vomit whole lemons.

This time though the conversation had somehow turned to magical transport, specifically the Express itself, and from there to the magical carriages that waited for them at Hogwarts and the beasts that pulled them.

The concept of a thestral's invisibility to those who hadn't seen death was rather interesting, which for Hermione of course translated too absolutely riveting, as did most any magical phenomena.

Of the beasts only Ginny remained blind to the sight –well now partially, Hermione had previously had the dubious pleasure of having seen off an aunt, and had come upon more than one unfortunate site in their traipsing.

Out of curiosity and slight boredom they'd spent most of the trip switching back and forth between the train and the parked carriages as they experimented with finding what exactly triggered the shift. It was commonly stated that all one needed was to witness death, what wasn't stated anywhere however was what kind of death. That left the question what exactly would count, a frog, a fly?

Did the death have to be that of a sentient; would something like an enchanted suit of armour or a portrait count? What about things like certain magical plants?

Of course they weren't going to try anything as grand as knocking off a fellow human to observe the difference, so a variety of small insects from roaches to gnats was where they started off. Unsurprisingly their various squashings hadn't done a great deal; none of them had been really expecting them too.

From there they'd gone on to small mammals, Ginny having volunteered her brother's rat after the conversion of Hermione's recently captured marsh toad to potion ingredients had failed to elicit a response; the thing had kicked up a storm when the grinning redhead offered it up to Axel's large and rather vicious owl who'd shared the dangling entrails with Hermione's new cat in a heart warming show of friendship.

None of them had felt particularly guiltily about it, Ron's lack of interest for it was a wide known fact, and it wasn't like they were just randomly butchering a rat for the fun of it; unfortunately unlike the toad rat's were rather lacking as prospective potion ingredients so to the owl it went.

They hadn't expected the disembowelling of Ron's rat via owl to do much either, or as they reasoned, if the death of a rat was enough there'd be a whole lot more thestral sightings giving how many students owned cats and various other pets that might find the furry critters to be a nice snack.

Bizarrely after Hedwig had finished gulping down the now deceased rat Ginny could now make out a distinct kind of shadowy blur where she'd previously perceived nothing.

Further experimenting with another rat, this time provided by the ever able Weasley twins the subjects of their second attempt –performed when they arrived, had failed to garner any reactions.

Since they didn't really care, and their allotted pointless-curiosities time was now spent they'd left the numerous questions to be answered whenever –if ever, they picked up the subject again.

Later seated at the Slytherin table for the Start-of-Term Feast Axel watched as the Malfoy boy recounted the search of The Hogwarts Express.

On October thirty-first Sirius Black broke into the Gryffindor Tower.

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 **An: Hedwig ate Pettigrew, the end. He's definitely not coming back; except in the form of pellets.**

 **Either since he was in rat form, or because she didn't know/or mentally acknowledge/or think of him as human Ginny didn't get the full effect. So until she sees anyone else die her ability to see thestrals is sort of in limbo.**

 **As for why they can use Dark Corridors even though it's been mentioned that Axel's body can't yet handle them, basically the gist is that using a corridor to travel short distances is a lot less of a strain than using them to tear pathways through the nothingness between worlds.**


	11. Chapter 11 - Like a House on Fire

**An: About the Boggart, I might have unintentionally lied. I still haven't been able to figure out what I want to do with it yet so... yeah. Sorry about that everyone. Next chapter it is.**

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Remus remembered the tiny babe that was Lily and James' youngest and only child. He'd been so small, but Remus remembered even then how fast he seemed to grow, shooting up like a beanstalk.

Neither Lily nor James had been all that tall so young Harry's height had come as something of a surprise. James though had a great-grandfather who had been reputed to have been something of a giant which was where they'd decided Harry had got it from, and both of Lily's parents had been taller, even if only slightly, than there admittedly short daughter.

As far as peculiarities went though being tall wasn't all that strange. Having never had a child before, and not knowing if it was normal or if something was wrong it had worried Lily and James to bits though until an examination from a Mediwitch at St Mungo's had reassured them that everything was fine and that young Harry was simply a very fast growing young toddler who was going to be very tall one day; that and, if his current habit of setting things on fire continued, a likely pyromaniac.

The youngest Potter's habit of setting things on fire had been a bit of a worry in those days, though it did have its moments. He and James' had laughed themselves silly when he'd set Sirius's clothes on fire when he'd stolen Harry's sippy cup in an effort to get him to try to walk early in an effort to get it, which needless to say hadn't worked. Lily had not been happy to come home to find a charred Sirius, and constantly putting out fires got a little old after the fifth or so time it happened.

But that had been years ago. Remus hadn't seen little Harry for nearly twelve years, what would he look like now, was he happy? Remus certainly hopped so.

Remus had been anxious when Professor Dumbledore had offered him the Defence position, he hadn't seen the son of James and Lilly since that fateful night when Sirius –no he couldn't even think about it. He was ashamed to admit it but he'd been too busy burying bodies, and then burying himself in memories and alcohol, trying to drown his sorrow, to look in on James and Lily's son.

Sirius' betrayal and the death of his few remaining friends had left his world falling down around him, and Harry deserved better than a werewolf who would only bring second-hand trouble and tarnish his reputation before he could even speak in complete sentences simply by associating with him.

Scanning the crowd of returning students every now and then Remus could make out familiar seeming faces, the children of old classmates, but no Harry.

At first he'd thought he must have still been in one of the carriages because he couldn't see that brilliant red hair that stuck in his head even now anywhere, but the Start-of-Term Feast was about to begin and he still couldn't find him, even though Remus was sure he had to be here by now. From his vantage point at the Head Table Remus' eyes scanned over the first the Gryffindor House Table, then the Hufflepuff, and then Ravenclaw, looking for the son of his two friends amongst the students.

Surely he couldn't be... _could he?_ Remus eyes flicked over the last House left and did a double take as he spotted a very out of place patch of red at the Slytherin table.

Little harry wasn't so little any more. In fact he positively towered over the other students, and his height looked more like that of a seventh year's. It came as rather a shock to find the son of Lily and James sitting amongst the Slytherins, _no wonder he hadn't seen him when he'd been looking at the Gryffindors_!

And if that had been a shock he almost keeled over when he recognized the much shorter red head next to him as Arthur Weasley's daughter. What was going on!? A Potter _and_ a Weasley in Slytherin not Gryffindor!? Remus had to check the enchanted ceiling to make sure the world wasn't ending.

Needless to say it wasn't, and Remus took a very large gulp from a nearby wineglass, he tried to avoid tempting old habits but this was too much!

You disappear for twelve years and suddenly the world doesn't make any sense! For the last twelve years finding work in Britain for a werewolf had been nearly impossible ever since that hag Umbridge had forced through that anti werewolf legislation, he hadn't thought that he'd suddenly find himself in Bizarro World when he'd come back. Surely twelve years wasn't _that long_ , but no there were Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley sitting at the Slytherin table no matter how many times he rubbed his eyes or pinched himself.

Talking with the other professors quickly revealed that the pair, along with a Gryffindor named Hermione Granger were practically inseparable, though unlike the Marauders they seemed more focused on studying than pranking –though a scowling McGonagall had let slip that they seemed to spend just as much time as the Marauders had sneaking out, and skipping classes, to disappear to God-knows-where.

Apparently James' and Lily's progeny still had that fire kick too which was a little concerning. Well if anything, Remus supposed, it would be an interesting year.

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Remus liked to think he was an _ok_ teacher, but he had to admit his lesson with the second year Slytherins and Gryffindors had left him feeling a little ruffled –just why exactly Dumbledore pairs those two Houses together he'd never know.

They got on as about as well as a house on fire. Which was to say was horribly, and with lots of screaming, and property damage, as the house in this case was quite literal and was his classroom.

Naturally the two Houses together were a nightmare. Regrettably the ever legendary Slytherin-Gryffindor animosity was one thing that hadn't changed in the years he was gone, and now he has to deal with spells being shot back and forth behind his back whenever he wasn't looking, and Merlin knew what else.

Little Ginny Weasley was proving to be a right proper spitfire, but at least Harry's little friend had the decency to fake a look of contrite sincerity whenever he caught her pouring itching powder –which she'd no doubt gotten from her twin brothers, down another students shirt, which was more than he could say for Moran Tant and Belsie Hops who had managed to set each other on fire.

God he needed a drink, now he knew why Snape always looked so sour. Was this what it had been like to teach him!? Suddenly he felt a great deal of sympathy for old McGonagall who'd had to deal with James and Sirius as well as the rest of them.

The sound of the chiming clock on the wall shook him from his reverie, he steeled himself, he had a class to teach.

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"Right, Boggarts," announced Remus, trying to smile cheerfully but failing. Internally he was screaming. _Another Gryffindor-Slytherin class! Dear God!_

 _'One more old boy, and then it's the weekend, and you know what that means, no classes! Oh look, there's Harry.'_

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 **An: I haven't written Remus' pov before so hopefully people think I did alright. I'm not sure how long I'm going to make third year because I don't want to rush it, but at the same time I'm sure everyone's keen to get to the more Kingdom Hearts side of things, and third year doesn't have much in it that I can really use. While I'm on the subject, where exactly do you see the Kingdom Hearts side going? Like do you want to see a focus on Axel returning to the Kingdom Hearts 'world' or more the Harry Potter side of things; I'm kind of leaning towards spending the future in the Kingdom Hearts' parts of the universe, occasionally popping back to the Harry Potter world.**


	12. Chapter 12 - Shade of Fear

**An: It's been a while, I know. The Boggart chapter was excruciating to work on. Quite honestly I was completely stumped for a very long time. Now here in the end though I'm satisfied with how it turned out. I hope you will be too.**

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" _DOOM! Doom I say!"_

"That's nice Sybil," said Professor Flitwick absently, buttering his toast, and not at all paying attention to what his colleague was saying; all in all just your average breakfast at The High Table.

Down the table, and firmly away from what many had mentally labeled 'The Land of the Crazy,' a concerned Professor Sprout turned a questioning eye to her slumped colleague Professor Lupin who was currently lying with his face against the table, blocking out the noise coming from her colleagues with practiced ease.

"Ok there Remus?"

There came a muffled groaning from the crumpled figure. Pomona gave his back a sympathetic pat.

"Ah, Boggarts again was it dear?"

A long drawn out moan answered accompanied by sobbing.

"Gryffindor and Slytherin you say?"

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He wanders what it is he fears.

Well that's not quite true; he knows lots of things he fears. Axel wanders what sights a Boggart will show him.

Objectively there's plenty. Fear is an emotion present within the psyche of most sentient beings after all.

This common phenomenon is reflected in the presence of the multitude of common phobias and negative feedback driven motivators found in sentient species.

Beings are made up of lots of little fears, the fear of failure, the fear of disappointment, the fear of hurting themselves. Fear of public speaking, of insects, of falling from great heights, of stubbing ones toe, the list of these little fears that plague the sentient mind is endless.

Something tells him though these everyday worries and reluctances aren't what feed a Boggart's imagination though.

It would be a little ridiculous if a Boggart responded to an intruder by turning itself into something, like say cheese, in the face of someone who was lactose intolerant.

He thinks though, this being a third year subject, the somewhat subjective 'greatest fear' that Boggart are purported to react to is probably not quite true.

Plenty of people's 'greatest fear' is probably not something with a physical one size fits all encapsulation. How would a Boggart react to someone who was terrified of falling from great heights, make itself into a cliff? Something tells him that wouldn't be all that effective given Boggarts can't actually make themselves very big so it would be more like a very small hill.

From what little he's heard and read on the subject the images a Boggart's imagination conjure up could range anywhere from the deceptively simple and true to reality, to the vast and lurid.

The examples listed in the passage on boggarts in their textbook seemed to indicate that it was a bit of a toss-up, with most being straightforward and simple and about half turning into surrealist nightmares.

No one really knew much about how to predict what a boggart's response was going to be. Some apparently stuck to one extreme or another, others strayed either way in response to fears that contained certain themes, some of the less picky ones picking and choosing at random.

Axel couldn't help but find it rather fascinating, most of the Nobodies and Heartless weren't half so varied in their habits.

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Axel sits and he waits and he watches.

Neville Longbottom is the first to step up, ushered forward by a harried looking Professor Lupin –Moran Tant and Belsie Hops had been at it again the period before and managed to set fire to his desk, setting off a chain reaction and exploding the confiscated dungbombs inside, filling the room with noxious smelling smoke.

As a result the room was currently being defumed which –unbeknownst to either Axel or the rest of the Professor's current class was the reason this lesson was taking place in the staffroom of all places.

Most of the students seem to have no problem facing their fears with much coaching from the harried looking Defence Professor.

Longbottom's successor manages to get the spell down on the third try, but the boy that followed her seemed to have trouble getting the visualization part right, turning his Boggart first blue, then white, then green, before at last succeeding in getting the effect he'd being trying to achieve.

The lesson went on from there, students stepping forward as they made their way to the front of the line; the lesson going smoothly for once, much to the secret relief of the Defence Professor.

Axel for his part watched his classmate's attempts with interest. There was quite a spread of fears amongst his classmates, spiders, mummies, disembodied hands, even a banshee from Seamus Finnegan, all made debuts much to the nervous delight of the watching audience.

Some of the more surreal horrors are somewhat nauseating to look at, such as the bubbling abomination spawned by a girl who evidently had been reading Lovecraft.

All in all it was rather a well thought out class. With Halloween around the corner Axel thought professor Lupin had timed it rather well.

It was no Halloween Town but the Hogwarts' staff had done admirably in transforming the castle for the holiday; with a few of them like Lupin managing to slip an extra bit of holiday festivity into their lessons.

Hagrid in particular had outdone himself –Axel had never seen Pumpkin's quite so large; he thought all the resulting pumpkin related dishes might be a tad much though. Axel could almost believe the rumour of Frank Boyle's purported pumpkin Boggart.

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Soon enough it's Hogwart's resident arsonist's turn. Lupin –dead on his feet and looking done with the world doesn't bother to stop him.

' _Good,'_ a part of him thinks viciously, _'Maybe getting a glimpse of old Voldi will terrify them enough to stop leaving dungbombs in every conceivable space they can get their grubby mitts on the little cretins.'_

A cornel of exasperation somewhere inside him informs him that a bucket of cold water is probably more likely than any dark lord; what did he ever do to be surrounded by so many pyromaniacs?

Sometimes it feels like he's suffering from a curse, one that doesn't have anything to do with full moons or wolf bites, no wonder every Defence professor ended up leaving or went insane if this is what they all had to deal with.

At least not-so-little Harry doesn't do it to his desk unlike some students he could name.

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Unaware of their teacher's frayed state of mind the class watches as the latest student steps up.

The Boggart noticing him as he approaches shifts, abandoning the form of the strange furry creature with too many legs Mandy Perlock's attempt had left it in and sort of melting into the floor in a of shadowy ooze.

It seems this times if going to be one of the surrealist horror ones.

Axel's reasonably sure that should anything from _the before_ manifest as part of whatever Escher like work the Boggart creates he'll be able to pass it off as something from an old dream that haunted him as a childhood.

Two hooded figures rise from the floor, straight up as if on an invisible platform capable of moving through the solid stone the Boggart's hairy form had oozed onto during the transition from one form to the next, giving them the eerie impression of twisting, sprouting saplings.

Axel would recognize those coats anywhere.

To most of the class the coats the figures wear are creepy looking, with oversized zippers and dangling silver ornaments; the creepy impression the coats and the figures who wear them give of course has ' _nothing' –rather that is everything,_ to do with the faintly ever-present sense of _hollowness_ they emit.

It's kind of like being around a dementor; if a dementor didn't suck in happiness and memory and kind of just sat there without changing the temperature at all.

Hoods firmly in place, fully lowered, hide the faces of the wearers. Only the choice in footwear set them apart and serves to distinguish one as female, but even that's more a guess than a certainty.

For a moment they just kind of stand there… existing. It's creepy, and unnerving, more than one student shuffles in place uncomfortably.

As one the hooded figures step forward, coats fluttering in the wind of their passage, an arm outstretched imploringly each, one leg extended in synchronicity for a second that lasts an eternity, stride smooth… and then they sag and collapse, bodies falling apart suddenly in a frothing tide of ocean water and sea shells to spill out across the floor.

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 **An:** **I went back and through the previous chapters and mostly corrected a few typos and made minor corrections and changes: ie –using names in place of pronouns ect. to refresh everything in my mind before I started writing this chapter.**

 **A couple slightly more notable changes though:**

 **About 300 words added to chapter 2 - about memories and Nobodies.**

 **About 100 words added to chapter 3 - about Dan's impressions of Harry, specifically mentioning Axel's face tattoo/mark things.**


	13. Chapter 13 - Geometry of the Heart

**An: Happy Holidays in advance.**

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March turns to May.

The waning days of spring fall over the castle and the surrounding forest and waters like a fog, bringing with them an end to the year and the rains of summer.

It's been a long time since the early days of the year when the castle's halls were filled with excited chatter comparing boggarts, and discussing new appointments made to the staff table, thought of Sirius Black and his one time break driven away by much dreaded exams and the bittersweet memories of graduating students.

For Axel and the girl he's promised passage to, next year there will be a different sort of graduation, one that will see them cross the stars and journey across the night sky to far off worlds.

They wander by the lake, skimming stones and talking, following along branching streams that flow among the trees and rocks, and along a snaking river that feeds into the main loch.

As they wander Axel attempts to impart an education on matters of the Heart to the girl who yearns to travel to distant worlds and sail between the stars –paltry as his own understanding is; but then the nature of such things escape even the likes of Ansem the Wise, and the chilling intellects of Number IV and the Superior.

Such things are difficult concepts to convey at best, and as they dawdle under ancient boughs he struggles to impart his knowledge, though nebulous and vague.

Plunking himself down amidst the fallen leaves and the moss Axel tries his best though, as above the many limbs of the forest sway and rustle in the wind, one thing he will miss when he's gone is the forest.

It's a subject scholars have spent whole lives researching only to find at the end still no concrete answers. Men have wasted away searching for the truth of the Heat in all its vague mysteries. Others have been driven mad by the answers they seek, broken by the incomprehensible nature of their findings.

Soul, Heart, Memories, Body, Mind, Consciousness… what invisible ties and tides separate and entangles these phantasmal constructs!

"No. They are. But - " Axel breaks off in his explanation, struggling to put a voice to concepts he's been struggling with since he first donned the Organization's coat. "Okay, look. People hear _parts_ , and think of puzzles. Pieces that fit together to make a set, but aren't complete on their own; corners and edges that click together to be filled in by other less defined parts."

"They think of pieces that only become whole once they're joined to another." Axels exhales a sigh, and rubs the back of his head with a hand, already tired from trying to describe the metaphysical geometry of the Heart.

How can he convey such convoluted concepts in a way that makes sense to someone?

Hermione may be Zexion reborn in brilliance, but the fey currents of being that weave together within the metaphysical geography of a body to create a heart lie forever beyond the reach of many of even the most brilliant of genii.

He plays with the wand he carries with him these days, turning it over in his hands as he contemplates the mater –he doesn't need it, but it's nice to have, especially for the small things. Slowly a thought coming to him as he twirls it on its end, held aloft in the air with a tendril of thought.

With a wave of fine wood crafted from what Ollivander had referred to as, "a particularly reticent tree" infested with a rare amount of bowtruckle inhabitants Axel spelled forth a tea cup into existence.

Such cantrips now came to him with ease. Since landing himself on this world he's increased the range of his spells by multitudes, enough that he thinks even old Merlin would be impressed. Considering the old man once told his mother that, "that boy, when it comes to fire, has an aptitude, but if he ever learns to so much as levitate a broom I'll eat my hat! " though that might not be much of an achievement.

"Look at this. _Look,_ " he insists. Obediently silent, Hermione watches as Axel proffers the small rounded teacup for her inspection, offering it forward in his outstretched hand.

Stooping without warning Axel swings his fingers through the river, feeling the lip of the cup bump against the stones. When he lifts his hand into the air liquid sloshes over the side, drenching his sleeve.

"Which part of the stream is the water?" Axel asks. "If you take a cup out, is it no longer part of the stream? When you pour that amount back in, is it no longer a cup?"

No words in any human language can encompass the mystery, though Axel tries to force them into the proper shapes. Hermione visibly wrestles with them, she understands the metaphor, but the simplicity is tell-tale of a trap: she can sense the paradox that lays waiting for her to dare run it's gambit as surely as a snake behind a pane of glass waiting to be fed.

"It all came from the stream originally," she answers slowly. "So it should all be the same, no matter what."

Axel sighs; he doesn't know what he expected.

Instead of succumbing to temptation, Axel stretches out her arm, and drops the cup into the river.

The ceramic tumbles and sinks with subdued splash.

"There," he challenges. "Now, which part of the river is inside the cup, and which part of the cup is inside the river?"

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 **An: I managed to swing by the Japanese Universal Studios a few days ago and got to visit the Harry Potter section which was pretty amazing, though the lines were killer.**

 **The next chapter is already planned out, so that'll probably come out around Christmas as a kind of gift to you all; the chapters following it will be where stuff really starts to kick off with the kingdom hearts side.**


	14. Chapter 14 - Salon Beuschel

**An: Happy very belated New Years to all of my readers!**

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There came a ringing at the door of the Granger household –home of the Doctors Granger and their fourteen year old daughter.

"Darling," Emma Granger's voice called, "that must be Hermione's friend, can you let him in."

Dan Granger who for his part had been gazing out the window for the better part of the last half hour pensively, face locked in a stern expression, in the manner his wife had long dubbed as 'brooding' turned his gaze from the raindrop spattered glass at his wife's call, letting out an answering call of, "yes dear."

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' _How did this happen?_ '...

Axel gave himself a surreptitious sniff as he stepped up to the Granger's front door, wrinkling his nose involuntarily as he picked at his favourite coat before shrugging to himself and shucking it, sending it off into a small pool of darkness that grew lazily at his feet; he still hadn't managed to get the faint smell of swamp out it.

Coughing politely in an effort to clear his throat –a technique also often employed before delivering dramatic speeches, he pressed a finger to the doorbell, running a quick eye over the clothes he'd worn, making sure he was presentable.

' _Well, looks like it's my show now.'_

Soon enough the door opened, and Axel found himself looking into the scowling face of Dan Granger.

"..." The silence that stretched on was almost painful. Dan Granger's face didn't budge.

Politely ignoring the man's grimly set stony expression Axel offered his most sincere smile. "Mr Granger, good to see you again." He proffered up the cake he'd brought, "I brought dessert."

The man didn't look convinced.

"Emma's got the food on," he grunted, eyes boring into Axel's as he let him in.

Smiling as he stepped inside he skirted the now shorter man's height –well if you counted his hair, which Axel most certainly did; the rest of him was still slightly shorter than the older man.

"Well, I'm never one to turn down home cooking," said Axel as they stepped into the hall, smile still firmly in place as he removed his shoes. His face was beginning to ache.

"I'm glad to hear that," Mrs Granger's voice carried from down the hallway.

She turned to smile at him as they entered the Granger's large open kitchen in a manner that was decidedly at odds with the glower her husband was currently aiming at his back. "Hello Harry dear, or is it Axel? I can never keep it straight with you."

She shook her head fondly, smiling at him. "Hermione's out the back why don't you go fetch her, the food will be ready in a minute."

"Of course, where should I put this," he proffered the cake. It really wasn't anything special, he'd picked it up on the way at a baker's down in Kent.

"Oh Harry, Axel," –she shook her head in exasperation, a look of fondness upon her face, "honey you shouldn't have, really."

* * *

" _Think I'll pass. My heart just wouldn't be in it, you know? Just to full with all the rest of your delicious cooking."_ Axel begged off as the... well he wasn't exactly sure what it was, was offered again, lying through his teeth, the name was unpronounceable, but the taste was unforgettable –and for all the wrong reasons!

Whatever it was the dish, whose recipe Emma had brought back from the mainland, was, it was enough to make even his unflinching stomach curl.

Thankfully the rest of the meal was far more palatable.

* * *

As she took a bite of her food, Emma sighed with relief, each moment of benign dinner conversation that passed by meant one less minute of unpleasant questioning.

She loved him, but Dan could get himself so worked up over his fatherly suspicions sometimes.

Frankly she was amazed he'd made it through the meal so far without breaking out the inquisition.

Really, Axle was such a lovely boy; even if he didn't like her _Salon Beuschel_ , silently Emma giggled to herself as he made faces when he thought no one was looking.

* * *

Dan tried not to stare –at least, he tried not to be obvious about it, eyes taking in the outlandish, even absurd, features of his daughter's best friend.

In the time since first meeting him at the annual start of year shopping trip he'd half convinced himself that his memory of the boy had been exaggerating.

If anything his mind seemed to have repressed the reality of it, there just was no way to compare to the experience of seeing 'Axel' in the flesh. Dan remembered well the flurry of personal 'reimaginings' and accompanying name changes that were flying around all over the place during his university days.

Though –he eyed the boy narrow-eyedly, there'd been a lot 'free love' and drugs flying around during his university days.

His eyes swept over the boy's hair again, no memories just didn't do it.

There was the crazy red hair, Dan still didn't know, even with magic, how there was any way that could be natural. It had got longer and somehow even more spiky since the last time he'd seen him.

Clearly, Dan thought as his eyes moved on, some things just weren't meant to be understood.

Then there was the height, which was just as disproportionate to the conventions of reality as the hair, and just as ridiculous. Like the hair the frankly ridiculous height for a thirteen year old –now going on fourteen, had only gotten more improbable. The boy was nearly up to his nose; though the half-metre or so of hair crested just above him.

Hermione had told them about a groundskeeper come professor who was half giant, and Dan had to wonder what they must have been feeding 'little' Harry at that school of theirs since he was apparently, "all human."

And then of course there were the very much artificial looking facial markings. Good god who was he kidding! Those really were facial tattoos. He felt a little lightheaded.

His head swivelled to his daughter, just to make sure she hadn't spontaneously acquired a pair of new facial markings in the last ten seconds, thankfully she hadn't. Well _,_ he supposed faintly, at least they were very tastefully done.

All in all looking at Hermione's schoolmate Dan's thought was, clearly punk wasn't as dead as everybody thought.

Dan's eyes slid vacantly over the rest of him, was this what being a parent was like for everyone else?

 _'Well,'_ he comforted himself, _'at least he doesn't ride a motorcycle.'_

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* * *

 **An: Unfortunately I couldn't make the Christmas/New Years deadline. _Salon Beuschel,_ for anyone who is wondering, is an old-style Viennese Veal Ragout from Austria made with heart and lungs. **


	15. Chapter 15 - Bonsoir, Auf Wiedersehen

**An: University and some not so insubstantial living arrangement troubles have kept me tied up and decidedly unmotivated lately. I'm starting to get the spark back though so to speak.**

* * *

.

.

It was time they were off. The stars were calling. The time of preparation for their departure was a hand.

There is though, a slight delay in the making.

.

Axel has seen a great deal of sports of strange varieties in his sightings of distant worlds, from the water submerged Blitz Ball to Sphere Break, Quidditch doesn't rate too high on the absurdity scale, which is, in a way, refreshing; though the point system might.

A short delay for a worldwide event on such a populated world is not a hardship. And even now he can feel the energies roiling inside him begging to call out and tear into the darkness, but for now he resists.

Yes… a short delay, for the tickets come free, and what a sight it is.

Spectacular, long has it been since his eyes saw such a sight of such a fantastical gathering that was not tainted by misery.

Rare is the sight.

* * *

Blaise –his lackadaisical companion within the Snake Den, greets him indolently, languid in his movements as he ushers him forth across the doorway with an invitation, to introduce him to his progenitor who bore him.

His mother's assessing eyes trace over Axel with a keen edge. Her smile a rack of knives upon which, dashing themselves against, many have cut themselves to ribbons on.

She smells of darkness and power, oleander carried on the night wind. _How many_ Axel thinks to himself, _has she bewitched? How many have been charmed, and in turn dangled like marionettes from those elegant hands?_

Perhaps she sense the fires burning in him for she makes no attempts to play with him the way she does her hapless suitors and those who she finds amuse her but she does not deign to eat.

He is brimstone and sulphur, and she reels in the spider's silk for she knows it will burn.

 _Ah… here_ , she thinks, _is the great inferno, for he is fire the end of all things._

* * *

After he has departed, having graciously turned down the glass of blood offered, Axel finds upon his wanders a great swath of familiar faces amidst the cavernous grounds, cries of fleeting greeting called out to him in passing from fellow Hogwarts alumni and foreigners to the isles that recognize him from his country hopping alike.

The wizards here are spectacular in their showmanship, as wizards tend to be he has found, no matter the world, and the Flurry of Dancing Flames spends the fading hours of the day browsing the collection of intriguing stalls that have sprung up and admiring the absurdities and flamboyancies of wizarding tents in all their glory.

Really, the solid gold ten foot ostrich statues of lot number four hundred and thirty are just absurd, and don't get him started about lot twenty nine of the Irish delegation's diamond coloured Shih Tzus.

The phenomenon of sport's melting pot of cultures is one Axel is long used to but it's still amazing nonetheless.

He recognizes an Armenian wizard from his travels who once sold him an enchanted mirror, and a pair of Veela he sprung up a passing acquaintance with while in Prague, as he browses at an oculi stall.

Fellow creatures of fire they notice him easily through the crowd, sending him enthusiastic waves which he returns, watching with amusement as their clearly vampiric girlfriends who look like they've just come from a rave with all the glow sticks they're carrying throw him some.

Catching them he adds them to the eclectic collection of paraphernalia and knickknacks he's currently sporting, having received similar gifts from various acquaintances and passersby, or else purchased from the various hawkers; well, he supposes, at least someone else seems to be embracing the punk aesthetic.

* * *

The match is phenomenal, the after party amazing.

Hundreds of thousands of people –a good number who weren't actually there for the match, singing, dancing, and making merriment.

All until the screaming starts and Axel finds the impromptu rave party he'd started up with his Veela acquaintances and their Draculina friends which had quickly become very popular until it spread to the become something of a spring up nightclub interrupted when a body goes flying through one of the magically enchanted speakers currently pounding out futuristic sounds to the accompaniment of pulsing lights.

Chakrams flame into existence within his hands as a new friend, Castor, who he suspects is an off worlder –and what are the chances, begins laying down a spray of bullets from his futuristic light cane which seemed to be now functioning as a cross between an impromptu air guitar and machine gun.

Next to them one of the partygoers smashes a bottle over the head of a heavily tattooed and dark robed figure, dribbling radioactive looking goo and glass shards onto the bar as an all out brawl breaks out and Axel finds himself thrown into the fray, an exchange of brightly coloured lights and hurled objects whizzing above his head through the strobing lasers.

Down on the dance floor it's a mess, bodies flailing left and right, the epilepsy inducing light show of glow sticks, strobe lights and spells not helping.

It's certainly a memorable send off.

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* * *

 **An: For anyone who didn't get the cameo Castor is from Tron Legacy. I just couldn't resist, when I thought of Death Eaters crashing a rave my mind instantly jumped to that nightclub scene, and anyone who's ever played kh2/dds knows that Tron is already cannon as far as Kh goes, and I love the idea of him world hopping.**


	16. Chapter 16 - Spring

**An: I wonder how many people will be able to guess which world Hermione's on.**

* * *

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 **Hermione**

Hermione's first impression of a new world is that it's freezing.

Wherever she is it's cold. The only thing for as far as the eye can see is frozen mountain. There's snow everywhere, and every once in a while it blows by in little clumps, the wind tugging at her hair.

Hermione loves it.

It's beautiful. Hermione takes big deep breaths like she's savouring something delicious. Hanging around Axel's good for one thing if nothing else, and keeping warm's a breeze.

Talking of Axel no wonder he was so keen on not hanging around, stopping just short of landing, and dropping her through the intangible veil that marked the world's borders, straight into a pile of snow, instead of landing.

Well they can't all be normal, functioning, beings she reasons.

Stealing herself, body humming in nervous excitement, she takes one last moment to soak in the vast landscape stretched out before her; this is what she's been waiting for all her life, one of the grand adventures she dreamt of so often as a little girl reading tales of the explorers of old.

A quick charm pointing her in the direction of the nearest settlement, probably some little mountain village high up in the snowy peaks, and she begins her journey, trudging through the snow.

It's all very new and exciting; she has never been anywhere so remote and wild.

Optimistic, her excitement dims slightly at the sight that greets her when she finally rounds the side of the mountain she's on, it's, surprise!... more mountains.

* * *

 **Axel**

The sun is shining, the birds are singing and the flowers blooming.

By the lake the Giant Squid is lazing, basking in the shallows. The Abraxan's neighing and whinnying away contentedly in their little corner of single-malt whisky induced paradise, and the wooden boards of the ship that had brought the Durmstrang contenders seemed to creak in delight at the sunny weather.

Hogwarts's resident lord of flames hummed to himself cheerfully as he walked along the path marked out by the forest which lead to the place of the first task, guided by the occasional jets of fire that issued from the treetops in the distance.

Catching wind of the Triwizard Tournament had convinced him to stay around a bit longer than initially planed –even if ninety percent of the time he's not actually there, not that they know that.

..

 _The students in their seats uncomfortably edged away from the blank looking Harry Potter replica currently occupying the real Harry's desk._

 _It's vacant expression staring into blankly out into nothingness in an unsettling manner that reminds the Muggle-borns uncomfortably of the dolls in horror movies._

 _Professor Binns doesn't even notice when 'Harry' starts listing to the side, sagging like a slowly deflating jumping castle before slowly tipping over sideways where he's content to lie, half in his seat and half on the floor, blinking robotically._

– _Axel wasn't the greatest when it came to making body doubles. And 'Harry' didn't have the benefit of moulding into existence at the hands of the Chilly Academic's talent or having Namine on hand to reluctantly supply help on the memory –read 'basic personality programming' front._

 _.._

* * *

 **Severus**

Severus Snape has a headache.

This isn't something new. Severus Snape has had a headache for the last four years, the result of four years of having to deal with a Potter in Slytherin.

But oh no, it wasn't enough that Potter had gotten himself sorted into Slytherin. No, the youngest Weasley just had to get sorted into his house too.

The incorrigible little brat was worse than Potter! At least he had the good sense to keep his fires out of the long disused seventh year alchemy rooms –widely known as a rendezvous spot for the more amorously inclined upper years.

The Potion's professor found his eye twitching at the lacy unmentionables and… romantic aids, strewn across the room in the occupants' haste to vacate the premises.

She must have thought the sight of scantily clad upper clansmen running about like headless chickens was just _so_ funny.

He felt a vein throbbing in his forehead.

Dam them! This was those blasted twins' fault. Of all the siblings to emulate...

Why couldn't she have picked that troublesome Seeker and focused all of her time on wining him the Cup instead of causing mayhem everywhere she went? Wait a minute… didn't he do something with dragons now?! Maybe that other one, Perseus? _Percival?_

Aimlessly he searched for some faint glimmering light within the darkness with which to comfort himself. Well… at least she had the decency to not get caught, a true Slytherin that one.

Severus snorted and the illusion shattered, as if! Everyone and their mother knew who was behind it!

The only reason she hadn't been strung up by her ankles from the astronomy tower was because psychical punishment had been banned for the last forty years and the (unfortunate) technicality of a complete inability of any of the staff to catch her in the act, and a dearth of incriminating evidence.

* * *

 **Sally-Anne**

Sally-Anne tried not the blush furiously from where she was currently squashed between her giggling friend and the cute Slytherin boy who'd chosen to sit next to them and kept sending her looks from bellow his long lashes.

Was he sending her looks? It felt like he was sending her looks. There could only be so many times someone could be looking in another's direction.

..

 **Blaise**

Blaise sent another smile at the Hufflepuff girl he'd ended up sitting next two, keeping himself entertained while he waited for his roommate to show, remembering to 'smoulder' as his mother was always reminding him.

Her Gryffindor friend seemed to find her friend's flustered state hilarious.

.

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* * *

 **An: I struggled with what to do with the time of the kh side of things. Should I make no time pass since Kh 2? Should I jump ahead the 14 or so years Axel has been 're-living'? Should I jump back in time and have him be born before kh1 or bbs?**

 **The answer I've come up with is to stick to a blurry non specific but vaguely post kh 2 time setting.**


	17. Chapter 17 - Traverse Town Troubles

**An: I couldn't resist pulling a Kronk with Sora.**

* * *

.

.

 **Sora**

Sora is very confused.

Across the street, browsing nonchalantly as you please, as if he isn't a fever dream hallucination and Sora's actually still shivering away miserably in his bed with that nasty case of dragon pox he got from Ping the other week instead of shopping in Traverse Town, is a redhead who looks disturbingly like a certain former redheaded member of Organization XIII.

Now Sora might be hallucinating but that looks an awful lot like Axel. The supposedly dead Axel –at least as far as dead goes for Nobodies. Axel the Nobody who doesn't exist anymore, the Nobody Axel who's dead.

The formerly-dead-but-now-maybe-alive dead Axel who's standing next to a short, young, and suspiciously redheaded girl who happens to be wearing a familiar looking coat over clothes that look suspiciously like a more feminine version of the ones a young Lea wore in the photos some of the restoration crew inadvertently showed him when they were going through photos for the Radiant Garden memorial, only with all the tans firmly replaced by even more red.

Sora's eyes narrowed. This would require investigation.

* * *

 **Hermione**

The Land of Dragons as Hermione has found it's called while not necessarily apparent to the causal tourist is actually aptly named, and Hermione finds herself running from a recently hatched brood of one of the world's many indigenous pygmy breeds when she wanders by an abandoned mountain cave.

It's certainly exciting, and Hermione ruminates on her recent discovery that there's nothing quite like being chased by a group of dragons to set your blood pumping as she takes to the snow. The little fire starters snorting and gambolling about behind her, smoke and the occasional fiery ember erupting from their adorable little snouts, certainly seem intent on following her.

They're like puppies, puppies that set things on fire and like to gnaw on things with their very sharp teeth, and Hermione would very much like to keep one. Actually she'd like to keep all of them.

At the moment though, while adorable, she'd like to avoid getting bitten by their affectionate little jaws until she thinks of a method of taming them and that means finding a nice rock to climb on top of where she can think of a plan without being jumped on or having her hair set on fire.

Copious amounts of time spent working with highly flammable substances –courtesy of Axel, has taught her plenty about keeping herself off-fire and other safety precautions, however running through knee to waist deep snow isn't ideal situation for focusing on making oneself fire retardant and impervious to teeth on the go.

* * *

 **Yuffie**

So she likes checking up on her old haunts, sue her.

Yuffie hasn't swung by Traverse Town in a while, busy with Restoration Committee business. The streets are achingly familiar.

They ought to be, she spent most of her life growing up here after all. She's as close to a native as you get in Traverse Town, and she remembers fondly the days of running through the streets with all the other Traverse kids, half of whom didn't even come close to resembling human.

There's certain type of comradery that comes from a youth spent running through the streets together.

And even separated by distant world's Yuffie would still do anything for those old friends.

Most of them aren't around anymore, Heartless don't discriminate after all, and Yuffie and the Traverse kids grew up in dark times. Nowhere was safe, and she grew up surrounded by a perpetual cloud of fear, and an air thin illusion of normality that everyone seemed desperate to maintain.

Sora and the King might have been able to fix some of the damage, but a lot more was lost than they could have ever had hoped to mend.

Speaking of Keyblade wielders…

Busy reminiscing about the time she stole Leon's jacket, eyes foggy with memory, she almost doesn't see the familiar head of spiky brown hair failing miserably to hide behind some pot plants on a nearby balcony; which is amazing really given how poorly he's camouflaging himself. It makes her ninja instincts cringe.

Well Sora was always a bit of a weirdo she supposes. _Who wears such ridiculously oversized shoes, besides the King? –maybe it's some weird thing all Keyblade wielders have, wearing giant shoes._

Curious she follows his gaze to the pair of redheads he's staring at. Something about the tall one seems familiar…

 _Holy Crap!_

"Lea!? Hey Lea is that you!"

* * *

 **Axel**

Axel about has a heart attack –a rather novel experience considering he actually has a heart to have an attack with now, when a small feminine body slams into him out of nowhere while he's browsing an exotic cabbage merchant's wears, spilling said leafy produce everywhere accompanied by a plaintive cry of "my cabbages!"

It takes him a moment to recognise the name they're calling as his, not Axel or Harry, but his actual birth name. As Demyx would say 'like, whoa…'

" _Lea!? Hey Lea is that you? Oh my god! It's me, Yuffie! You do remember me right? wait what am I talking about of course you do!"_ The girl's mouth whirls a mile a minute even as she takes a step back to size him up.

Now that she mentions it he does seem to remember a little squirt back in Radiant Garden who liked to loudly proclaim to the whole city that she was 'The Great Ninja Yuffie'. He wonders how she ended up here of all places though.

Now that he thinks of it though he does remember something about Hollow Bastion residents living in Traverse Town after Radiant Garden fell.

"Geez you got so tall. Whoa and you've got a kid too now!" Her eyes found the markings on his face. "And, holy crap, you got facial tattoos!"

"She's not mine."

* * *

 **Sora**

While an amazing hiding place where no one will ever find him Sora's hiding spot is not exactly the best spot for overhearing conversations. _Probably all the leaves._

Sure he could use magic to let him eavesdrops but that might give him away; Yuffie is a ninja after all, who knows what super secret eavesdropping-magic-sensing ninja tricks she's got?

 _And how does Yuffie even know Axel anyway?!_

As it is he can only hears bits of what's being said, something about how tall he is and a kid.

 _Dam it!_ He's too far away to hear properly.

Crawling forward with the utmost stealth, Sora almost falls out of the small tree he's lodged himself in when he hears the words, "She's… mine."

* * *

 **Severus**

He eyed one of the many potent concoctions lining his wall, just one sip and it'd all go away.

His idiot senses are tingling again.

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* * *

 **An:**

 **Did anyone else notice the Land of Dragons' disturbing lack of dragons? Mushu's small size was what led me to making the ones Hermione ran into a pygmy breed. They'll probably grow to about the size of slightly longer than average dogs.**


End file.
